Telling Tales
by Forgotmytea
Summary: A short Scarecrow piece, focusing on Scarecrow retelling an experiment to his psychiatrist at Arkham. Slight twist at the end. Please read and review!


Please note that, rather sadly, I do not own Batman, Scarecrow, or any of their affiliates mentioned in this story. Nor do I hold any claim of ownership to the Milton quote and the Blake references. Enjoy!

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_**Telling Tales**_

The moon was full, brightly shining down from the deep blue sky, which loomed overhead, almost black, peppered with the tiny lights of distant stars in distant galaxies. All around lay acres of farmland, unspoilt wilderness, covered in the darkness dread and drear, her locks covered with grey despair.

Jenny strode through the field, anxiously heading towards the lights of civilisation. She wouldn't usually be out this late, not when she was this close to Gotham City, anyway. Oh, she had been what some call a 'professional rambler' for a while now, as her muddied clothing and hiking boots were testimony to. No doubt one of those people who can't find happiness, or fulfilment, or truth – take your pick – in a normal life, and packs everything up, fleeing to the country to run a farm, travelling the world, or, in Jenny's case, rambling. A backpack full of supplies, the odd battered, dirty saucepan hanging off a loop; a map thrust into a shirt pocket; a hunting knife strapped to her leg, no doubt to protect herself against any undesirable people she might meet on her travels. Or might have already met. I've seen their types before.

She was still pretty, despite having been living rough and walking through god-only knows what for the last however long. Her long blonde hair was tied in a ponytail, which fell far down her back. Her slender body moved with grace and agility, even when she was in a hurry, as she was now. Her eyes were wide and brown, her lips full. Obviously she was devoid of makeup, but in a way that enhanced her attractiveness rather than diminishing it. Yes, she certainly was attractive. Though, to play devil's advocate, she can't have been too intelligent. I mean, who walks alone at night near Gotham?

She walked quickly through the corn, pushing the hard stalks aside, making headway towards the safety of civilisation. The only light provided was from the moon and a torch in her hand, barely illuminating the oppressive blackness that crowded in around her.

Suddenly stumbling, she dropped the torch, a tiny tinkle of glass announcing the bulb shattering in the dirt. With a curse, she bent down, retrieving the now useless contraption. As she straightened, gritting her teeth at her bad luck, my hand brushed against her shoulder. A light touch, brief, but enough to send shivers down her spine, right to the base. A tiny scream emitted from her round mouth, and she jumped backwards, turning to face her attacker.

Her pretty face, taunt with terror, relaxed when she saw only a scarecrow, hanging off a crude wooden cross. A slight smile crossed her face at her stupidity, to let a simple mannequin scare her so. That carefree smile made it all the better when I moved. Just my head, turning to look at her. The smile froze on her face, her eyes widening again, so far it seemed as though they might at any moment fall out of her face, rolling around amongst the corn, blinding her. The soft, supple orbs that give us sight, now only food for the carrion crows. Behind the burlap, I smiled. I knew so many ways to make her eyes really widen.

I rose my left arm, pointing the gun at her face and squeezing the trigger. A soft hiss in the moonlight announced the release of the gas, and she collapsed. To be honest, I doubt I needed it. She was frozen with terror – well, an understandable predicament after seeing me, poor girl – but I found it more enjoyable to render her senseless for a moment.

I need not go into all the different experiments I conducted on her – I'm sure the police report covers those rather adequately. I suppose, though, that you want to know what I _felt_, how I _feel_ now – remorse, regret, anguish? That I took a poor young woman's life, her life, the most precious gift of all, and used it as my plaything, my lab rat. But you only truly know how precious life is when you've taken one. And I've taken plenty in my time. Not all of them voluntarily – though no doubt that sounds unbelievable, as you probably see me as a textbook psychopath, perhaps even now looking for Freudian ideas in me. Well, I can tell you now that there is no Oedipus Complex in my subconscious. Believe me, I've been there – deep in the recesses of my own mind. Not voluntarily… But I digress. Jenny, yes.

No, I don't regret what I did. It was exhilarating, and very productive to my research at the time. I have copies, if you're interested. My only regret is being careless two weeks later, when Batman caught up with me. Hence why I'm in here, telling you all this, so you can no doubt 'cure me' and put me back into society, to be like all those other mindless Epsilons and Deltas, running around with their little pointless jobs in their little pointless lives. No. I am destined for so much greater. Surely you can see that. We – that is to say, myself and the others in here – aren't the mad ones. Oh, no. Take my word for it – I'm a professor.

I do beg forgiveness, I've drifted again. To end this little tale; I killed her. This wasn't one of the intentional killings – her mind just couldn't take the phobias I pumped into it, and she simply died of sheer terror. Always fun to watch, that, though there is an element of pathos there too. Probably at the loss of a potentially great subject. But she was useful when she was alive. The next subject was so much more resilient, though. But I only mention Jenny because, despite her flaws regarding durability, she was a very interesting subject. Very interesting indeed. I owe rather a lot to her, especially regarding the toxin I'd just finished before that accursed Batman found me. Ah well, 'Farewell, remorse: all good to me is lost; Evil, be thou my good', as Milton would have it.

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Rather oddly, she seemed utterly unfazed by my little tale. She didn't look like one of the hard-bitten doctors who's talked to everyone from Eddie to Harvey, and is now so soulless that nothing can shock them. No, she looked like a new girl, which made it even odder that she should remain so calm. She would be a very interesting subject. Oh yes, she would. Next time I escape, perhaps I'll root her out, find her, see how long she can last… 

Her mind seemed to be elsewhere throughout the session. Wishing she weren't here, but not in the wishing-I-wasn't-in-Arkham way. Rather the wishing-I-wasn't-in-this-particular-cell way, as though she had more pressing patients to see than me. I studied her for a long moment, looking far into those deep blue eyes. There was something hidden behind there – love? adoration? lust? obsession? Some strange combination of all of them.

Ah well. She stood, gave me a brief smile, and started to turn. 'I'll see you next week, Crane' she said as she headed towards the door.

''till next week, then, Doctor Quinzel' I courteously replied.


End file.
